


i don't care about what you think (unless it's about me)

by XellyChan



Category: Dragon Ball Z
Genre: M/M, death makes you longsuffering, drabble babble, sorry - Freeform, with friends like these who needs freeza, you're in love with an asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:19:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XellyChan/pseuds/XellyChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then, because the alternative is worse;</p><p>Toma punches the fuckwit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first rounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JujuBardie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JujuBardie/gifts).



> a dbz drabble series i've had rotting in my drafts for ages. maybe i'll do something with it.

The grin pulls at Bardock's split lip, opening the scab back up. It stretches his face too wide, leaves his eyes manic and staring, the blood from the cut bright against his dirty pale face. He looks like a brutalized jester in the King's court, fruit painted mouths grimacing under the fools' noose.

"Brother," he says by way of greetings.

Hey, how ya doing. Ah lovely day, the blood pond is radiant huh.

"Oh," Toma says, vague. Strained, a little, through clenched teeth. A bit in his cheek jumps.   
Then, because the alternative is worse.

Toma punches the fuckwit.

He opens the skin over his knuckles and it stings like a whore, but the way Bardock's jaw cracks against his fist, and probably broke, makes it goddamn worth it. His breath comes out heavy and deep, steaming out of nostrils like a bull. Toma flexes his fingers, cracks them, finally, because he's not a barbaric ape, says "Welcome to hell. Beers' this way."

Bardock laughs, spits blood, and laughs more


	2. conversations on behind the veil

_You weren't supposed to die, you ass._

_So the fuck should I've done._

_Not fucking die._

_Yeah, well, next time you lot do better next time._

_Shove off, ponyboy._

_Hah, stay golden._


	3. patience is short (pride too tall)

In hell, there were only two things.

Be bored as piss or be drunk as piss.

Bardock, boozy fucker he is, relishes the latter with an almost religious fever.

"This," he tells the small red skinned ogre behind the bar, "Tastes like piss. On a warm summer's day." And while Bardock is rude, he's not wasteful. He gulps down his summer's piss flavored beer. "Do you have anything autumn inspired?"

"Give him paint thinner. Better yet, rat poison." Toma says helpfully.

"Maybe it'll get the shit to come out of his ass instead of his mouth." Fasha fiddles with her earring, rolling it over the pad of her thumb, sharp little grin in place.

As it turns out, there's paint thinner and disinfectant on the rocks. Bardock is mildly impressed. "Wintery piss, then. Good man, after me own heart." The ogre snorts, already moving toward the cluster of bodiless souls with dark frothy pints in his hands. There's a longing sigh and Toma turns to see Bardock fluttering his short eyelashes exaggeratedly at the bartender.

"Oh," laughs Fasha, leering with all her tiny white teeth bared, "I do believe the princess's panties have been stolen."

Bardock scoffs, scratching his scar. "'Heart', you mean. I'm a damn classy lady."

Snorting around the wet neck of his warming beer, Toma mutters "No easy lay, you."

Sloe eyes catch his, dark and bright like burning coal. Toma looks away. The look continues and he refuses to think about it.


	4. hold on to anyone who wants you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last one.

In the dark, Toma could almost tell himself whispering scattered words of adoration would be okay. (it isn't, he knows, not if he wants to keep doing this, fumbling hands and ragged moans and oh god, he does want)

The words expand in his throat and he can't breathe, his tongue swells in his mouth, it's all he can do to choke down needy whines, and his throat clicks wetly as he swallows his own desperation. 

There’s a red hot brand constricting his chest, like odes and curses and things he'll never say and things he should've said, but the Bardock grabs his face, flushed with exertion, and snarls guttural and deep, "Fucking fuck me,before I do it myself," 

Toma snarls back, the brand loosening in intervals like Bardock's pulse against his neck. It's not freeing, not at all, Toma still feels caged and choked, but suddenly he feels steadied, cemented down. "Shut up. idiot, I don't want to hear your stupid voice," The words are petty and petulant like a child throwing a tantrum, but it empowers him with a brittle and temporary strength that floods his veins, and Toma tangles his fists in Bardock’s hair, rearing him back until his neck is bent painfully and clumps of hair are coming loose.

Bardock laughs, open and rough, the way he's been since dying. Death has fitted itself across his shoulders like a mantel of pride, like living was never worth as much as the meaninglessness inherent in martyrdom. And then he fucks his hips back on Toma's cock, easy as breathing. Toma grunts, his mind stuttering, filled only with sensation of hotslicktightgoodfuckBARDOCK. It's a dirty fucking move, and every bit like Bardock; messing Toma up in one move or less and sending him back to starting line, weaker than before.

It pisses Toma off.

It pisses him off that he's in love with the fucker,that he died for that piece of shit, he fought and lived for Bardock, but never once has he had control. Even now with his cock splitting the shorter man open, he's not in control. Every move, every action is dictated by Bardock's want and desire 

It's maddening

“C'mon, hurry." Bardock pants, that irritating shit eating grin stretched firmly across his face." What happened? Did you lose it?"

Toma scowls. "I'm pretty sure I said shut the fuck up, bastard," Still smirking, Bardock languidly stretches out, splaying his body like a tableau, all glistening flesh and carnal desire.   
Swallowing around the rush of heat, Toma steels himself, unwilling to just latch onto the obvious bait. He pulls out, finally wiping that smug look from Bardock's face, but gives him no time to complain, roughly flipping Bardock over to his side, shoving his face into the earthen ground.


End file.
